Make the Man
by hwshipper
Summary: Five Times Wilson Wore House's Clothes and one time he didn't . Just how did House end up wearing Wilson's tie anyway? A whisk through relevant past events, ending up at 5.11 Joy To The World.


**Title:** Make the Man: Five Times Wilson Wore House's Clothes (and one time he didn't)  
**Author:** hwshipper  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**Beta:** the splendid and superfast lazy_nightowl, who also provided the plot bunny.

**Make the Man: Five Times Wilson Wore House's Clothes (and one time he didn't)**

_1. Fastidiousness_

House reluctantly opened his eyes from his postcoital doze, as the mattress shifted underneath him and Wilson hauled his legs off the bed. "Rushing off so soon?" House asked.

"We just slept two hours, House, and it's the middle of the day." Wilson reached out to pick his T-shirt up from the bed and grimaced. "Yuck. Urgh!" He opened his hand wide and the T-shirt failed to drop to the floor, hanging down but staying resolutely stuck to his palm. "I can't wear this!"

"You're a student; you can't afford to be fastidious." House shifted position lazily, remembering how he had come right into Wilson's balled-up T-shirt two hours before, taking satisfaction in avoiding his sheets. Wilson, groaning and grinding inside House, had been too occupied with his own orgasm to notice.

"A desire for good hygiene is not fastidiousness," Wilson maintained.

"You only have to wear it down three flights of stairs to get from my room to your room," House pointed out. "It's not going to infect you with anything on the way down."

"I am not wearing it like that." Wilson pulled at a clean portion of the T-shirt with his clean hand to release it, wiped his sticky hand carefully on the clean portion and dropped it on the floor. He then picked up the other item of clothing lying at hand on the bed--a crumpled black T-shirt with a psychedelic red design.

"Hey!" House said indignantly, as Wilson pulled it on over his head.

"I'll give it back." Wilson stood up, and House sucked in his breath sharply. Wilson was still naked from the waist down, and the T-shirt covered only half his ass. Wilson bent down to pick up his jeans from the floor, presenting such a splendid view that House's cock decided abruptly that two hours was quite enough recovery time and it was ready for some more action.

"Not so fast, Jimmy," House said, leaning over to pull at the T-shirt.

_

* * *

2. Forfeit_

"I know you cheated, House; I just can't figure out how." Wilson threw down the cards in disgust. He picked up his glass and drained the last of his bourbon.

"Hey, I resent that! I won fair and square!" House beamed and waved to the hotel barman, mouthing, _same again_. "So. Forfeit..." He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "You have to wear my clothes at the conference tomorrow. Through all the sessions."

"Oh, _please_." Wilson covered his eyes. "I can't wear your jacket or your pants; they wouldn't fit me. And anyway, you need to wear them; you're giving a paper too."

House acknowledged the truth of this. "Okay, you can wear your own suit, but everything else you wear is mine. You wear this blue shirt." He tweaked the collar. "And the tie I brought with me. I didn't want to wear that anyway."

"I think that was _my_ tie anyway, once upon a time.... Okay, it's a deal."

The following day, House took great secret delight in seeing Wilson give his big conference paper while wearing the blue shirt. The room was warm, so when he began to take questions, Wilson took off his jacket, revealing the shirt in all its glory. It hung somewhat big on him, and once or twice Wilson fingered the collar and cuffs, clearly not quite comfortable in it.

House took even more pleasure in the knowledge that Wilson was also wearing House's underwear.

_

* * *

3. Lost_

"I do not understand how the airline managed to get your bag here and not mine," Wilson said disgustedly, as they walked through the airport towards the exit. It was late, and they both were tired. "They were checked in together; how could mine get lost and not yours?"

"My bag has a secret charm on it," House said. "Anyway, quit moaning. You can buy a new wardrobe tomorrow and claim it off the insurance."

"Yeah, clothes shopping is so how I wanted to start this vacation."

"You love shopping for clothes," House countered. "You only pretend that you don't."

Wilson ignored that. "And in the meantime, I have to wear this disgustingly sweaty outfit that I've already worn through a seven-hour flight."

"If you're going to keep complaining like this, I suppose I could let you wear something of mine." House sighed loudly, then dropped his voice and muttered, "If you give me a blow job at the hotel."

Wilson snorted a little and stopped walking. House stopped, too, and looked enquiringly at Wilson, who dropped his own voice and murmured, "Like hell. You can give _me _a blow job."

House shook his head in mock indignation. "I'm _already_ doing you a favor!"

"No, I'm doing you a favor. You love me wearing your clothes." Wilson smiled gently and started walking again. "You only pretend that you don't."

House stared after Wilson, then firmly zipped up his mouth to quell the admiring smile that had involuntarily appeared, and followed.

_

* * *

4. Seduction_

House closed his front door behind him, walked into the living room, and stopped short at the sight before him: Wilson sitting on the couch, his feet up, reading a book, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

"That's my sweatshirt," House pointed out the obvious, as he pulled off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

"I was cold. It was lying around."

"So you thought you'd surround yourself in my old sweaty clothes." House was amused. It was one of his jogging sweatshirts, although yesterday he'd been wearing it around the apartment rather than out jogging. It wasn't laundry-fresh, but neither was it particularly dirty. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Thought you might like some company."

House snorted. "I think you thought that Stacy's away, so you'd have a chance of getting laid. And that putting on my sweatshirt might help."

Wilson stretched his arms above his head and turned innocent brown eyes on House. "Does it?"

"No," House lied. Actually, Wilson looked _incredibly_ fuckable. He always looked good in sweatshirts, of course--House could barely resist him in that gray McGill one.

A couple of hours later, when House ran his tongue in one long lick from the base of Wilson's shaft to the tip, he kept on going upwards, putting his head under the sweatshirt. He licked up Wilson's stomach, paused to nuzzle Wilson's navel, and breathed, relishing the scent of the clothing--his own sweat mingled with Wilson's cologne--in that cozy confined space.

_

* * *

5. Coffee_

"Shit! _Ow!_" Wilson cried out. A man rushed past, and House leaned on his cane and wheeled around, startled, to see Wilson standing with his coffee cup suddenly empty and his previously white shirt stained brown from top to bottom. Steam rose, and Wilson tugged frantically at the shirt, pulling it out from his pants and away from his body, ripping buttons apart.

"What happened?" House asked, striding up to Wilson. The coffee shop door banged to a close in the background.

"That guy bumped right into me!" Wilson was indignant but more concerned with his shirt, yanking the last of the buttons undone. "Damn it! That was hot."

House tweaked Wilson's tie to one side and inspected Wilson's chest critically. He found it was slightly red but not actually burned. "You're not scalded; you were lucky."

"Yeah. Really lucky." Wilson scrunched up a wet corner of his rapidly-cooling shirt and squeezed; coffee dripped out across his fist. "I can't walk back to the hospital in this. Give me your shirt."

House was wearing both a T-shirt and a shirt over the top. "No."

"Why not? It's a nice warm day."

"So you can walk back topless. It's only five minutes."

"Fuck off. I'm not walking through reception like this. Give me your shirt." Wilson was undoing his cuffs, unknotting his tie.

House sighed loudly and shrugged off his shirt. "Don't get coffee on it."

Wilson pulled off his own shirt and was temporarily bare-chested, right there in the coffee shop. House was briefly dazzled by Wilson's pale, almost hairless chest; then Wilson pulled on House's own sandy brown checkered shirt, and House was mesmerized all over again.

Wilson, noticing House's expression, shook his head. "Control yourself."

"Keep the shirt. Come over to my place tonight," House said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. He popped a Vicodin and turned and headed out of the shop, Wilson a pace behind.

_

* * *

6. And one time he didn't_

House let himself into Wilson's apartment without knocking and found Wilson sprawled in front of his big-screen TV watching an old black-and-white movie. A Scotch on the rocks was in his hand.

"Hey," House said brightly, helping himself to his own glass of the amber liquid and plumping himself down next to Wilson.

"Hey," Wilson muttered.

House knew he was in Wilson's bad books over the book, and sure enough after a few minutes Wilson asked abruptly, "I still can't believe that you never even opened it. Not through a whole _year?_ I mean, you've never believed that curiosity killed the cat."

"I wasn't in a present-opening frame of mind last Christmas." House sucked up Scotch. "I spent it with donkey-Nativity-hooker, remember?"

"Yeah, and she gave you a special Christmas rate." Wilson rolled his eyes. "Fine. But then you just stuck it in your closet and forgot about it for a year?"

"Pretty much. You forgot about it too." House turned to attack as the best form of defense. "You never asked me about it, never said _'_did you like the book?_'_ in which case I might have been interested enough to dig it out. But then, you had other things on your mind, being in those initial delightful stages of a new relationship."

Wilson grimaced.

"You never noticed it wasn't on my bookshelves?" House carried on. "'Course you weren't around much through last year, didn't come over to my apartment so often. Too busy fucking Amber--then mourning her--"

"Fuck off," Wilson said, sharp and annoyed. But he looked thoughtful. House stayed quiet, not wanting to push this. As soon as he'd been alone in the conference room, he had rescued the book from the trash can and stashed it in his desk. He intended to take it home the following evening and put it somewhere singularly obscure, where Wilson would be pleased to come across it in a few months' time.

They sat quietly watching the movie and sipping Scotch until the end credits rolled. Wilson stretched a little and remarked, "I saw you in the white coat this afternoon. Cunning disguise--to prove you can be kind if you try?"

"That's right. I'm aiming for a present from a clinic patient; I expect results within days."

"Huh, it'll take more than a lab coat to do that. If you're trying to impress clinic patients with your professionalism, you should wear a shirt and tie."

"Then I guess _I'll_ have to borrow _your_ clothes for once," House remarked.

Wilson grinned a little. He was still wearing his work clothes, a white shirt with narrow black stripes and a red-and-white diamond patterned tie.

House figured he'd probably been forgiven for the book thing, so he reached out to tug a little at Wilson's tie.

"You're gonna take it right now, from around my neck?" Wilson asked with a smile.

House, encouraged, curled his fingers inside Wilson's collar, pulling him close. He muttered, "So, were you _really _checking the prices of fireman strippers?"

"I can give you a number if you want, _Greg_," Wilson whispered, and House physically flinched at the sound of his name, occasionally written but almost _never _uttered by Wilson. He remembered the note on the book, stared into Wilson's brown eyes for a few seconds, decided he'd _definitely_ been forgiven now, and moved in for the kiss.

Wilson's lips were soft and tasted blissfully familiar. House knew his own mouth was dry and cracked from the winter air, but Wilson hummed under his breath and ran a tongue along House's lips, sucking daintily. They necked on the couch a few minutes, while House carefully unknotted Wilson's tie and dropped it to the floor. The shirt went next, and Wilson hauled House's T-shirt off over his head and pulled him to his feet.

Half-naked, they stumbled to the bedroom and discarded the remainder of their clothes. House flopped back on the bed and Wilson slithered gorgeously on top of him, nipping at House's lips, neck, shoulders; fingers playing lightly around House's nipples; cock pushing hard up against House's groin. House closed his eyes and moaned, reaching out for Wilson, sliding his hands around Wilson's head, running his fingers through silky hair. He felt the cold ooze of lube on Wilson's hand, rolling their cocks together, pumping up and down, and moved a hand downwards to assist.

House groped for the word he wanted to gasp before waves of orgasm overcame him--_Jimmy-_-and as he uttered the name and came, he felt Wilson's body jerk in reaction. Wilson shuddered and climaxed, shooting into House's hand. He collapsed on top of House, heavy and sweating.

House shifted the weight carefully off his leg, wrapped an arm around Wilson, and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Next morning, House broke the habit of a lifetime by getting up early while Wilson was still asleep. He moved quietly through Wilson's apartment, looking in drawers and closets, and finally found what he'd been hoping to find: a black button-front shirt of his, left at Wilson's place after some previous sleepover. And as a bonus, it was perfectly laundered. Wilson, bless his little cotton socks, had not only washed it but also ironed it.

House put on the black shirt, reveling in the neatness of the fabric, and then in the living room plucked Wilson's tie from where it had been discarded on the floor the previous night. House folded it carefully and placed it in his jacket pocket. He would put it on upon arriving at the hospital, before clinic duty. He wondered if any of his staff would notice that it was Wilson's tie from the day before; he didn't think so. They still had a _lot_ to learn.

Standing in line for a late lunch in the cafeteria, House spotted Wilson and enjoyed watching his bushy eyebrows rise at the sight of House wearing his tie. House quirked a brow upwards and smirked. Blue eyes locked onto brown eyes, then Wilson smiled and went on his way.

The following night, Wilson showed up at House's apartment wearing a fireman's helmet.

END


End file.
